


Fit

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fisting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:12:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9203342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Alternative title: If it fits, I fist.





	

Kylo isn’t sure it will fit. Well, to be fair, he thought that about his dick, too, and not in a ‘I have a fantastic dick’ way, but more in a ‘I have very little idea about female anatomy other than that it exists and does things mine doesn’t’ way, when they first became intimate.

“Kylo… it’s designed to let an infant out.”  


“That usually involves screaming and blood.”  


“As much as it might flatter you… your ‘lightsaber’ is not the same size as an infant. And I _do_ want to scream, but I’d prefer no blood.”  


And it worked. Pretty well, if he’s honest. Pretty damn well. 

He’d also then gone away to read feverishly up on how you did it better in future, because although he’d tried his damndest, he was pretty sure he’d messed up at least five steps from the Talk he’d had long ago, and Kylo Ren had to be the Best at Everything or he didn’t do it.

It was that simple.

And _still_ when she’d asked him for this, he’d been incredulous.

“You have seen the size of my hands?”  


“Yes, Kylo.”  


“And you’re sure you don’t just want a big toy?”  


“I want…” her hands finding his, pulling one up, bending his fingers down and kissing each one in turn. “To feel…” Kiss. “This…” Kiss. “Inside of me.”  


Kylo Ren could never turn his Captain down. Not really.

Still, even after she slid the ring on so he could focus a bit better, and then tucked his cock away with a promise to treat it nicely later, and now lies down on the bed, pink-cheeked and hopeful, he still worries.

Her fingers in his hair, and his hand sliding up and down her flank as they kiss. Slow, tongue-tasting kisses. He tries to forget what they’re aiming for, because it isn’t guaranteed it will work the first time. 

Instead, he remembers the articles he’d read. The ones he’d gone _red_ from. The ones that told him what women _wanted_ , or at least, gave good indications. Kylo had never had a problem with learning if the material was both useful and accurate, and my stars had Phasma been appreciative of his extra-curricular activity.

Do all of them. That’s what his brain says. Do it all. All the foreplay. ALL THE THINGS. But not all at once.

So he drags his hand up and down her side, his thumb tracing under her breast, and then up to her nipple, then down over her flank again. They’re both still clothed, but their legs entangle and they grind at one another’s thighs. Bites to her lips. Pulls and tugs and sucks. Fingers in the small of her back, rubbing her against him. Rolling on top of her, and sliding his whole body over hers. 

Maybe he’s going a little fast, but she isn’t complaining at all. Her legs part around him, and he uses the Force to pin her wrists down as he kisses and suckles at her pulse-points, then eats her neck whole while his fingers tuck under her blouse and draw lightly over her belly and hips. He keeps that up until she’s writhing, and then he ducks his head under the fabric and kisses as his head pushes it up to her breasts. 

His hands smother her soft curves entirely, and he nips and kisses between them, then pulls her up from the bed enough to unhook the twins. Up and over her head, tying around her wrists, and he lavishes her breasts with the attention they deserve. Lick. Slurp. Suck. Tug. Nip. Tug some more. 

Kylo’s almost forgotten himself again, which is helpful, because if he gets to come it won’t be for some time, not yet. He _likes_ to wait.

Down his kisses go, as his hands scrunch and jiggle at her bosom. Down, kissing over the waistline of her pants. Down, his nose in the crotch of her pants. His hands move to her hips, and he crawls lower to nuzzle his way along her legs.

Unfasten. Unbuckle. Unzip. Slide. Her hips lift to allow the undressing, and he tosses the last of her clothing aside. Looking up, her curls are sticky and dark, and he grins. She’s very wet, but she needs to be much wetter. So he holds her ankle and runs his lips along her thigh, and up to the crease of her groin. He skims over the mound, and then ducks down to kiss up her other leg. 

Yep. Definitely wet. Pooling, leaking, squelching. Definitely wet. He rests his chin on her mound, grinding into her pubic bone, and breathes over her belly. 

“Kylo…”  


“Not yet,” he says, and then angles his head and arrow-darts his tongue between her labia, cresting the clit. Over and over, dipping just slightly and making her leak more, making her lips swell, and her passage widen in preparation.  


Baby-sized his hand may not be, but it’s definitely bigger than his dick.

By the time he’s ready to dilate her, she’s pulling at the Force-bonds. He holds her lips open with the fingers of one hand, and strokes around her hole with his middle finger, encouraging her to spread wider. Another spurt, and he grins.

“Eager?”  


“Yes… yes, love.”  


Two fingers, and he shunts them in, bends, scoops, and pulls them out, wet from her. While she watches, he licks them delicately clean, savouring the moan as much as the taste.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, and grabs the lube.   


She might be drenched, but he wants to get her wider. A generous dose of the stuff, and he sticks two fingers back in, twisting his wrist as he strokes them to the knuckle and back out. In and out, in and out. She’s already easier to open than his hole, or her other hole, so the third finger is no problem. By the fourth, she’s starting to pant. He’s put four in before, but no further. He bunches them together, then spreads them wider. In, and out. In, and out. Stroking and twisting, and feeling her muscles clench in welcome and expulsion. His thumb sneaks in beside them, and all five digits are burrowing in, then twisting out again. Over, and over, and over. Her belly concaves as she pants, her eyes closed and her lashes on her cheeks as she loses herself to the physical release and stimulation.

“More… please… Kylo. More.”  


He pushes up to the knuckle, and feels her body resist. More lube. Again, and this time his fingers pop into her, and he swirls around to the loudest moan yet. Out, and more lube. He keeps this level up until she’s bouncing on his hand, and then he makes his hand into a real fist. It spreads out, and when he pushes it in… he’s sure it won’t go. It won’t, it won’t… and then it will. In, and past the spread of it, and up to the wrist. He keeps it inside for a moment, lightly wriggling his fingers, and twirls the ball inside of her. 

Phasma is _incoherent_ , now, and he knows he’s done well. She’s muttering nonsense, whimpering, and her vagina is stretched and stuffed with his fist. Twist. Twist. He starts to move it in and out, and she’s begging him without words.

When he thinks she can’t take any more, he bends over and licks his tongue lightning-fast over her clit. It makes her howl, makes her channel clutch him tighter, and he fists her even harder until she’s bouncing on the bed and cursing his name. Calling him words in tongues neither of them know, and he seals his lips around and _sucks_.

If she had the Force, the room would trash. As it is, he feels the last orgasm peak like a volcanic scream, and then he’s pulling his hand out and licking at her poor, abused walls. Phasma’s so far gone out of her head that all he can do is ease her down, and kick the bottle away.

Kylo climbs onto the bed and releases her wrists, tugging her in for the hardest cuddle he can offer.

The gratitude pouring off is pre-verbal, and he’s… well.

He fit.

So that’s definitely going to happen again.


End file.
